Back of the Bus
by minky-way
Summary: Having a car had it's benefits, but it was significantly harder to make out with an attractive stranger on the back seat, not without stopping anyway and he did want to get home before he threw up
**Prompt fill- I'm drunk on public transport and you're high and we keep looking at each other knowingly**

* * *

He wouldn't stop looking, but then seeing as they were the only people on the bus it made sense he had nowhere else to look, not that he was sober enough to think anything like that, just trying not to grin as he took in the others red eyes and dopey smile. He was high as fuck and it was obvious, almost amusingly so as he giggled to himself quietly, hand moving from the bag of crisps in his hand to his mouth over and over too fast to be anything but the dreaded munchies.

But of course at three am it makes sense the bus wouldn't be busy, pausing at an empty stop and him standing suddenly to walk to the front and throw the empty snack bag into the street beyond, exchanging words with the driver and laughing too loudly as he returned and lit a cigarette, ignoring the non-smoking signs and presumably knowing he wouldn't be punished for it. Bus starting to move again and laughing to himself as he was all but launched forwards, grabbing onto a hand rail with a wide smile and snorting into his sleeve even as he puffed on his cigarette and blinked lazily. When he finally regained his footing against the shifting of the bus, he walked lazily over to the seat next to him, flopping into it heavily and just offering over the cigarette absently, not commenting when tanned fingers took it.

"So," his voice was that lazy drawl he recognised, slightly detached and very much amusing, breaking for a second to smile at nothing and huff a nasally laugh before he waved away his own thoughts and continued. "How pissed are you?"

"Enough," he replied, though in reality he'd like to fall asleep and not be woken for a while, the swaying of the buses journey making him feel very sick and his vision blurring and distorting as his head swam queasily with more vodka than was ever advisable. "But at least I'm not stoned."

"Neither am I," he replied, but then Mizuki finally turned to look at him, able to take in his idiotic expression, the way his eyes couldn't quite stay open and the red of his eyeballs, his disbelieving expression clearly very funny as he burst into another peal of childish giggles, laughing along because being drunk with company was far more fun than being drunk alone. "Okay, so I'm a little high, like the tiniest bit."

"Mm-hm, sure, so that's why you keep laughing for no reason."

"At least I'm still awake, Mr. 'the bus is a great place for a nap I'm not completely drunk.'"

"I'm not _that-"_ he was going to say he wasn't that drunk, but then the bus lurched around a roundabout rather too fast and his stomach objected, clamping a hand over his mouth and having to swallow back acidic bile. "So I'm completely pissed, so what? What's the occasion?"

"You think I need an excuse to get high?"

"You think I need one to get drunk?"

"Touché, my alcoholic friend. I'm Sly."

"Oh, Mizuki."

"So, Mi-zu-ki," why that was funny he didn't quite know, but he laughed again anyway, a little hysterically this time, eyes creasing with amusement and coughing as the humour left him and he wiped moisture from his eyes because damn he was really baked. "Wanna make out?"

He blinked then, because his head was spinning and he was certain he'd heard him wrong, mind not quite working right and coming out with the first thing he thought of, horribly aware of his slurred words and his frankly idiotic tone. "On the bus?"

"No, in Paris. Yes on the bus."

"Oh," he paused then, turning to regard his companion and letting him take the cigarette back in time to get one last drag, watching him exhale smoke and thinking that he'd never suffered from beer goggles that badly so he's probably still be cute even when the alcohol left his system, shrugging lazily. "Alright."

He'd never normally agree to something like that so fast, but the other did look very sweet when he giggled like that, soft laughter not quite suiting his rather rough appearance, not really getting much time to take in his stupidly baggy hoodie and worn out trainers.

"Damn, you really _are_ drunk," he'd object to that normally, but he had to admit that this was probably the most intoxicated he'd been in a while, trying to sit up in his corner chair, right at the back of the bus where normally teenagers and those wanting to cause trouble sat. But he supposed in the brief second before his fellow passenger, _Sly,_ climbed onto his lap, they were the ones causing trouble now.

He suddenly appreciated his efforts to move a lot more now, the others slim leg sliding neatly into the gap between his thigh and the side of the bus, not giving him time to register what an odd decision this was before he was kissing him. He tasted of tobacco and weed which was never the nicest combination, but then Mizuki supposed he probably tasted unbearably of alcohol so he guessed he could excuse it. Besides, his lips were soft and his fingers were pulling on the short hairs by his neck so he couldn't really complain, tongue slick and wet on his, groaning into his mouth when he gained enough coordination to slide arms round his slim waist and pull him closer.

Making out on the backseat of a bus had not been his intention when he'd left the night out, but he definitely wasn't complaining now, fingers slipping into that stupid, stereotypical gangster hoodie and tracing up hot skin, smooth under his tingling fingers.

It wasn't until the bus stopped that either of them remarked about the fact his fingers had slipped into the back of his jeans or that Sly's were up his shirt and stroking across his stomach so low down it churned with arousal. It was only when the bus driver yelled at them that it was the last stop that Sly spoke, licking moisture off his lips and Mizuki suddenly feeling like he'd sobered up a fair amount, taking his hands and sliding them out of his jeans, bartender missing the feeling of hot skin immediately.

Then yellow eyes met his and he lost any self-consciousness he'd had, "I'd usually wait til I was at somebodies place to let them undress me."

"So come to my place."

His smile faltered for a second, then resumed with added warmth, wide and almost smirking even though he still looked wrecked as fuck, standing from his perch smoothly and offering a hand Mizuki had just enough coordination to take, leading him off the bus and the driver just laughing at whatever Sly had time to say to him.

Then he was on the street and the urge to vomit was strong but the urge to get Sly home was stronger, managing to shakily lead them to his apartment and not complaining when the other stole his keys to let them in and slammed him into the wall suddenly, laughing drunkenly as they almost fell and figuring this wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had.

* * *

The bed was empty when he woke up and he absently thanked God for small blessings, ignoring the minor fact that he didn't believe in God, rolling over to pull on some sweatpants and frowning as he realised half the clothes on the floor weren't his. He was still in the apartment then, thinking maybe he'd used the opportunity to shower and not able to begrudge him that, especially not after he'd been brought back to his so abruptly. He just sighed and headed out of his room for a lazy piss that was really more him propping himself up against the wall and letting gravity do the work, far too hungover to try and stand up straight.

There was slight noise from his kitchen and he considered chugging glasses of water then just falling back into bed, knowing he had to deal with the awkward uncertainty of just how you sent a one night stand home, did you kiss them? Exchange numbers? Or just say goodbye and never see each other again? He had to admit he liked the third option, and with how unpleasantly coated his tongue was he had a feeling the kiss wouldn't be the best idea even if the other, and shit he couldn't remember his name, was okay with it.

But then he walked into the kitchen and the thoughts all left his head, frowning a little in some disbelief as he regarded his guest, munching on something that look remarkably like pizza, not sure if his voice was annoyed or just surprised but knowing he sounded as hungover as he felt, tone scratchy and hoarse as he grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

"Are you helping yourself to my food?"

"Well you weren't awake to get me any."

"That's reasonable," he responded, inclining his head absently and thinking that maybe he should start getting high instead of drinking, the contrast between their conditions obvious, Sly looking fresh and awake while Mizuki felt sick and a little dizzy. "But cold pizza is not, you do know there's a microwave right?"

"I like it cold." He supposed he should object to his one night stand eating his leftover pizza, especially as he'd saved it specifically for hangover food, just grabbing a slice of his own and deciding he really didn't have the energy to mess about with stupid microwaves that had too many buttons. He didn't comment on his sudden change of heart, just raised a blue eyebrow and scratched at his stomach idly, having apparently decided food was more important than the rest of his clothes.

Things got marginally more awkward when he finished the slice and had to walk past him to leave the room, small kitchen and Mizuki's less than agile brain meaning he was right in the way and the other had to all but rub against him, which he did with seeming great amusement as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, laughing as he went.

He was sweet, in a street trashy, run away from home kind of way, and when he reappeared, dressed back in his stupidly large hoodie and contrastingly tight jeans, Mizuki wondered just why he'd agreed to come back so fast and why he'd been so high in the first place.

"Well, this was lovely and everything, but I have to go buy more drugs."

"Ah." He responded intelligently, headache making all logical speech leave his brain and only glad his guest didn't look offended when he almost blurted out, "what's your name?"

He just raised an eyebrow, pausing in front of the door with an unlit cigarette in his fingers, waving it a bit until Mizuki waved away his unasked question and he could light it. "Wow, you really were pissed, huh? But it's Sly. So hey, hit me up the next time we're on a bus together."

"Huh?"

He snorted at that, his clear confusion obvious and smirk a little softer as he pressed a hand to his churning stomach with a low groan of discomfort, "you put on quite a show, it was fun."

"A show?" Oh God, that statement was mortifying without context, did that mean he'd done something embarrassing? Had he thrown up or talked about utter shit or done some other idiotic thing, safe at least in the knowledge that they'd definitely had sex, he could vaguely remember it, so at least the alcohol hadn't rendered his dick useless because that would have been embarassing.

"Oh relax, don't get so drunk next time and maybe you'll actually remember," he was a pro at this, the post hook-up talk, he knew how to keep it light and casual, but then he was essentially saying he wouldn't object to it happening again and Mizuki certainly wasn't going to object to that. "But like I said, drugs to buy."

"Oh yeah, sorry," he realised then that the door was locked, finding his keys lying on the floor next to it and assuming with a sort of pleased surprise that Sly must have locked it behind them when they staggered in the night before. His hands were shakier than he'd expect as he unlocked it to let him out, other lingering in the hallway for a moment, neither entirely sure what the other was waiting for, at least until Sly rolled his eyes and reached up to kiss him.

It was a little longer lasting than the typical 'oh god please get out of my apartments before the shame hits me', kiss he'd given to other one night stands, with a good deal more tongue, lost in the sensation until he pulled back and audibly grimaced.

"Eugh, you have dog breath."

"And you taste of cigarettes."

He seemed amused at that, at having his retort responded to, eyes twinkling as he took another drag of the cigarette and turned to leave, throwing a lazy wave over his shoulder as he descended the stairs, "see you round, Mizuki."

He almost, _almost,_ opened his mouth to say 'hopefully,' reminding himself in the second before he did how desperate that sounded, and he wasn't desperate now, maybe next week he would be, but right now he was good. Or, not so good, clamping his hand over his mouth and heaving over the toilet, thoughts of Sly flying out of him as his stomach rebelled and he decided to invest in some weed instead of his customary vodka.


End file.
